


Good Sex

by Wrenlet



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-05-23
Updated: 2004-05-23
Packaged: 2017-10-03 13:57:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wrenlet/pseuds/Wrenlet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gapfiller for 405, post-episode.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Good Sex

Brian's still awake when Justin slides the door open, which shouldn't surprise Justin at all. Half-dressed and sitting at the bar counter, bent over a pile of paperwork that's probably from Ted, judging by the crease between his eyebrows. When Brian hears the door he looks up and lifts one, shifts back onto the barstool just so. Waiting.

Braced. Justin thinks back over the nights lately when he's walked in like this and damn near tackled Brian to the floor, hyped on adrenaline and aggression and just plain power, and he might apologize if Brian hadn't gripped his flesh just as roughly and panted like he'd never come so hard in his life.

Good sex is good sex. Brian taught him that.

Justin turns back to the door, closes and locks it. He can feel Brian's eyes on him, still quietly waiting to see what he'll do, and when Justin cups the line of his jaw with his hand he remembers how much he likes it when Brian sits here. How easy it is, to stand close and frame Brian's face between his palms and tilt it slightly back, running his lips across the line of Brian's eyebrow. Brian closes his eyes under the touch of Justin's mouth and lets him kiss one lid, and then the other, before lifting his head further and sliding his tongue wetly against Justin's teeth, coaxing him open for a slow kiss. Justin knows that he tastes like himself tonight, though Brian won't mention it. He never has.

Brian's arms circle his waist, one thumb hooks through the belt loop at the small of his back. Justin drapes his arms around Brian's shoulders and feels him nuzzle quietly at the sensitive skin beneath his ear.

"Call Daphne."

Justin draws back a bit and looks down at him, blinking. "What?"

"She came to my office today." Brian's gaze is as even as his voice.

"Yeah?" Justin blinks again, while Brian leans away from him to fetch the cordless. "Yeah, okay." Brian hands him the phone, and Justin closes his eyes and presses the back of it to his forehead, feels Brian slide off the barstool and kiss his temple before moving into the kitchen. Justin turns toward the bedroom before he dials.

Daphne picks up on the third ring, breathless like this is the most important phone call in the history of ever and she doesn't dare miss it. "Did he call you, what happened??"

Justin holds back a sigh. "Hey, it's me."

She gasps and just starts right into him, words tumbling out like she's been holding them in her throat all day, waiting. "You jerk! What did you do, did you go find him? Did you kick his ass, beat up the straight boy, strike a blow for fags and great jus-"

Oh God. If she's pulling out the sarcasm, it's bad. "Daphne... Daph, _please_."

He hears the click of her teeth as she snaps her jaw shut, mid-rant, and he closes his eyes again as he listens to her breathe heavily into her end of the phone. "You went with him."

"I had to." He's convinced of that much, still, as fucked up as it was and as much as he's probably going to pay for it.

"Whatever, Justin. Did you get what you wanted?" He wants to tell her yes, wants her to know what it meant to him... walking away. He wants her to not sound like she sounds, but it's too many words and they're suddenly heavy in his chest.

"Daph, I'm really tired. Can we talk about it tomorrow?" Justin's almost pleading with her, that little turn to his voice that he knows got him rides and math homework and half her brownie at lunch, but he's not lying. He's fucking exhausted.

She's quiet for a long time, and he wonders if maybe that doesn't work here anymore. "You're all right."

Justin notices it isn't a question. "I'm all right."

"How's Brian?"

"How's...?" Justin turns and sees Brian at the microwave, back to the room, punching numbers into the keypad. His office. Daphne. Justin rubs at his forehead. "Brian's fine. Tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow." The tone of her voice promises she'll have his nuts if he backs out.

"Love you, Daph."

Daphne sighs, but he's heard that sigh before and he's already relaxing when she finally mutters, "You too, asshole," and hangs up.

Brian reaches around him and hands him a highball glass, half-full of something white and faintly warm under his fingers.

"Warm milk," Brian tells him. Justin turns and raises an eyebrow, and Brian smirks and admits, "and brandy."

He has to laugh at that, if only a little. "I don't think I'll have any trouble sleeping."

Brian shrugs and lifts his own glass in an almost-toast. "You never know." He drinks about half of it, and his voice is suspiciously casual when he asks, "She okay?"

Justin nods and takes a drink, pictures Brian on his office couch with his arm around Daphne's slim shoulders. "She asked about you, too."

"Mm. She's a good friend."

Justin looks down into his glass. "Don't you want to know what happened?"

He hears Brian swallow, finishing off his drink before he cups Justin's chin in his hand and lifts his head, searching his eyes. Justin doesn't know what Brian finds there -- hell, _he_ doesn't know what he's looking at in the mirror lately -- but Brian's mouth curves and he brushes the pad of his thumb across Justin's lower lip. "Don't need to." He steps closer, and Justin holds his glass out to the side as Brian presses against his body briefly and murmurs into his hair, "Drink your milk, Sunshine."

He's not a fucking kid, but he's getting that Brian doesn't really think he is anyway, so he laughs and finishes his milk and follows Brian into bed. Brian scoots close, warm and solid against Justin's back.

Justin will tell him tomorrow, he'll tell them both. 'I thought for a minute he was going to shoot me,' he'll say, meeting Brian's eyes. 'Then you'd have been right.'

'I'm always right,' Brian will answer, while Daphne looks like she can't decide which of them to strangle first.

Justin will nod and maybe smirk a little as he points out, 'Except when you're not.'

Brian will tilt his head to the side and pretend to consider that for a moment. '... except when I'm not.'

Then Daphne will pick up a sofa cushion and hit whoever's closest. He wonders if he can work it so it's Brian.

Justin knows Daphne's not done chewing him out and he knows he deserves it for being such an ass to her; besides, that's how she loves him. He also knows Brian is done yelling, he said his piece and was done with it days ago, and as Justin starts to drift off he can't decide whether that's a relief or not.

\--

Justin wakes up with Brian mouthing his cock, sucking softly and teasing him awake.

"NnnGod...." Brian has always liked waking him up to fuck, claims it takes Justin longer to come and Justin's never had reason to complain. Besides, everything Justin ever learned about giving head, he learned from Brian... _everything_. Justin moans again and cups the back of Brian's head with his hand. Brian takes his hand away and presses something into his palm.

It takes Justin a second to wake up enough to recognize that it's a condom. It takes him another few to figure out what Brian wants, and then he lifts his head to blink down the length of his body. "Why?" Why now?

"Does it matter why?"

Brian looks up at him, and something in his eyes that Justin shouldn't even be able to see in the dim light makes him revise his mental picture some: Daphne's got an arm around Brian, too, there on the couch. Then it vanishes, because Brian has taken the condom back and torn it open, and is rolling it down Justin's dick. And yeah it matters, but no, not in the way Justin used to think it did.

The curve of Brian's ass and the way he rolls onto his side instead of his stomach, that matters. The stretch of his neck matters, and the catch in his voice when he reaches back to pull at Justin's hip and murmurs, "Come on... Justin."

It matters to Justin that Brian just woke up in the middle of the night and wanted him, and it matters to him that when Brian laces their fingers together around his own cock, it's the sexiest thing he's ever seen in his life.

Good sex is sex. This... is something else entirely. And neither of them is bothering to keep score, because that? Is what doesn't matter.


End file.
